


The Burden of Argus

by Castalle



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 06:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castalle/pseuds/Castalle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 'Endgame' - Sentinel is given the position that he deserves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It hadn't taken long for the people of Cybertron to realize it wasn't Sentinel they wanted as a leader – nor was his attitude long put up with after the initial Decepticon fearing phase finally wore off.

An entire solar cycle of Council deliberation, bureaucratic talks, papers that had to be signed – arguments and words. At first, Sentinel had been outraged and insulted – vitriol replaced the energon that flowed through his veins. Now, he was just tired and bitter.

He hated Optimus, and yet there was no one else he was closer to. Optimus was his only friend, his only confidant. But now it was Optimus Magnus, and Sentinel was once again Sentinel Prime.

"Don't make this a big deal, Sentinel." Optimus had told him, both hands on his shoulders to stop Sentinel's tantrum, "The Council is pushing us both in to positions we don't want…" he had gone quieter then, looking down at the floor. "...and there isn't a thing we can about it, except act honorably with what's been handed to us."

Alpha Trion had made it quite clear that he didn't want Sentinel in a leadership role – and once Ultra Magnus' spark had finally given out, the talk of Cybertron had fallen from Decepticon defeat to politics. Optimus had brought out all the stops to shovel dirt over Sentinel's fiery temper. It had worked, when it finally came time to do what needed to be done, Sentinel had honorably resigned from his position without an extra word.

He knew deep down, Optimus had done the right thing. Looking at the whole thing in retrospect , it now seemed obvious that without his friend's advice and the arguments between them - events would have unfolded in an exceedingly unfavorable manner.

It could have been worse, Sentinel thought to himself as he rose from his berth. The ship they had given him was built for the sole purpose of speed and sustainability. Deep Space reconnaissance – solo duty that most Primes balked at in disgust. He had actually pushed for it – he had requested it. Right now, Sentinel wanted to be as far away from Cybertron as possible, and his request had been met with eager agreement from the Council. Optimus had looked at him strangely from up high, but Sentinel had refused to meet his gaze – he couldn't handle the shame.

His ship, the Quickstrike, was well suited for long missions that could last up to an entire Solar Cycle or more. His room was small, a berth and a view screen and a small supply of Energon rations that he had organized for every day so that they would last. A dimly lit hallway was all that separated his room from the bridge. Said bridge was only large enough for one person. A panorama of windows circling the dash allowed him a view in to the depths of space. The dash itself was nothing but a large view screen in the center for receiving transmissions, and on the sides were various panels and buttons for controlling the ship.

He sat down, bringing up displays of energy recordings his ship had taken while he was in stasis and began to scan for anything abnormal. As usual, space was silent and cold.

But this was what he needed right now. He needed the solitude, the isolation, the predictability of nothing new happening. It was here, in the depths of space that he found these things and was content with them.


	2. Chapter 2

Sentinel watched a small asteroid float tamely by the starboard side of his ship, lazily ambling along in space as he passed by. He had encountered the uncharted asteroid belt during an initial survey of his sector, but was only now getting close to it. At least it was something other than dust and silence.

He sighed, lazily typing in orders for the scanners to begin their sweep of the general vicinity. He had begun the task of blocking in the empty charts, piece by piece. Ever block of the map took two weeks to complete, and there were a lot of squares to fill.

Sentinel leaned back in his chair, raising his legs and crossing them – resting his heels on the dash. He stared up at the ceiling, it was empty. He had thought of sticking pictures up there so he would have little reminders of home, a postcard from Iacon or a poster for the Elite Guard. But no, the rules specifically stated that non essential items were banned from the bridge.

Sentinel momentarily mused on sticking them on the wall in his room, and his antennae made a small sound as an unconscious display of emotion as he became satisfied with that idea. He wouldn't see them as much, but it followed protocol.

Should he put up a picture of Optimus? He narrowed his eyes in distaste – he would, but he'd just make sure no one else saw it. It wasn't like anyone else was out here anyway, but when he went in for repairs he'd be sure to take it down. Were there any other faces he'd tape to the wall? Sentinel began to ponder.

Ultra Magnus was dead, and it did upset him, but seeing his face staring at him at his current position would only make him feel more ashamed. Magnus was something that had been his for a moment and then was taken (and given) away. He was still angry about it, still bitter and cynical about the whole ordeal. Sentinel wouldn't forget the humiliation, and if anything - he could feel it seeping deep in to his circuits and hardening into him permanently.

Jazz? No. His type was the popular type, quick to bend the rules and do things at short notice when it seemed like a good idea. Sentinel knew the value of rules – he had learned it the hard way. He would never go out of line again, even if that phrase sounded too familiar for comfort. After the situation with Elita, he had become ramrod straight and by the book. The situation with Lockdown was just a means to an end, and even then – he had received his just rewards by receiving nothing at all for all the trouble he had gone to.

There was no one else, Elita was dead to him, and the Jet twins were simply under his command – he felt no kinship towards them in the slightest. Well, they had been under his command. He had no underlings now, he answered to superiors with reports and graphs.

A rumbling disrupted his wondering, and he took his feet down and switched on the scanners. Two of the meteors that were floating in front of his ship were beginning to move in a very alarming way. The bodies divided up in to limbs, black markings appearing on the once hidden 'flesh' that was underneath the stony shell.

"Oh."

That was the best response he could come up with. 'Rock Lords' as they were referred to, were hostile, and Sentinel was more than willing to give them an introduction to his lance. But there were only two. Their information records stated that they travelled in packs of upwards of 50 or more. As proficient a fighter that he considered himself, Sentinel knew that 50 against one weren't good odds, so he was a mixture of suspicious and grateful.

The larger of the two Rock Lords floated towards his ship, bumping straight in to the window. Sentinel's optics widened and he jumped out of his seat, grabbing his lance handle and shield that were under the dash. He quickly made his way to the airlock that was down the small hallway. The ship barely had room for him; it wasn't too much of a walk. He entered and banged on the eject switch, the doors to the hallways snapping shut – and the doors to space quickly releasing the air from within the cabin so that he wouldn't be sucked out violently.

Once the environments inside and outside the door were stabilized, the silver bulkheads slid open to reveal the deep of space. He kicked out, grabbing the edge of the airlock entryway and swinging to the outer hull of the Quickstrike, grabbing on to one of the long triangular wings. The Rock Lord that had planted itself on to his window looked up with a dumb growl and propelled itself forwards toward him.

Sentinel was quick to strike it away with his lance, and it growled as it was sent hurtling in to what was now recognizably not another meteor – but rather the remains of what had been a Rock Lord at one point.

He blinked, and turned to see the smaller Rock Lord heading towards him at a slow pace. It was dull and weak, and Sentinel simply kicked off from the wing and spun once, his shield sending the Rock Lord hurtling backwards. He floated in silence, surveying the meteor belt closer once the creature had resigned itself to just floating and growling at him. It was hard to make out, but between the actual space rocks – the remains of Rock Lords were spread out. Limbs and torsos of the creatures had been torn from the other and were nearly indecipherable, floating there next to the authentic space stones.

Sentinel opened his wrist panel and sent orders to the Quickstrike to perform a scan of the area once more. He turned and sent a grappling hook from his wrist shooting towards the starboard wing, and began to reel himself back towards his ship once it had latched on. He had the grappling hook installed shortly before his departure from Cybertron, for situations such as these. Optimus had used it during their time in space when the Decepticons had escaped from their holding on his ship, and Sentinel had seen the obvious benefits.

He reentered the airlock, taking one last look at the two Rock Lords who were slowly curling back up in to their camouflage, too weak or too tired to put up much of a fight. Curious. He shut the doors and allowed the cabin to pressurize before he made his way back to the bridge, completing the scans and opening a new data file for them to be organized under. He'd have to send this information to Cybertron, but it would take the data at least a month before it actually reached its destination. He was so far out that the data had to bounce off of numerous satellites before reaching a receiver in Intel.

He switched on the audio log to record his voice, and cleared his throat before giving his report in bored monotone.

"Sentinel Prime – audio log, entry one. Encountered what was thought to be a Meteor Belt, but was later discovered to be a mixture of authentic meteorites and the remains of Rock Lords. Two Rock Lords were encountered at the scene. Both were in a weakened condition and unable to cause a disruption. Scans indicate an Energon trail leading away from the site, but cannot be confirmed for Autobot or Decepticon. My grid scans will continue at their regular pattern without delay, but I will also scan for Energon trails, and report upon any other unusual findings. Any changes that must be taken if future findings indicate the requirement will be noted in this log. Time of report – 1400 hours."

He leaned back in his seat, narrowing his eyes as he prepared the Quickstrike for flight. Part of him wanted this to be just a single event that would lead nowhere. Another part of him was hoping it would lead to something new – something more exciting than taking pictures and rationing Energon. But Sentinel couldn't predict anything at this point, and he knew there was nothing he could do about that.


	3. Chapter 3

The Quickstrike shook violently as it descended through the atmosphere of Lambda IX, an uninhabited planet that the computer had automatically named in alphabetical and numerical order. Sentinel was used to these bumpy rides, he enjoyed them more than he let on. They made the trip more exciting.

He had continued grid mapping the system for 20 more solar cycles until picking back up on the Energon trail he had found at the Rock Lord site. It had made a straight shot towards this planet, and bee lined through the atmosphere until it was lost again. Obviously it was something that could reenter an atmosphere without a ship, which made him nervous. Sentinel made a small sigh as the ship exited the shield of fire and air that surrounded Lambda IX and leveled out, sinking back in to his chair once the bumping and rattling had ceased.

The continent that he followed the signature to was large and almost glowing red – this planet was young and the environment on it it's early, violent stages of life. He zoomed in the ship's scanners and the view screen showed a landscape of volcanic mountains that were gushing out lava onto the blackened ground below. The violent birth of an organic planet disgusted him, but he wouldn't be swayed from the chase just because of some molten rocks.

He followed the trail of energon to a plateau that was large enough for him to land his ship on. Once the landing gear stiffened under the weight of the ship entirely, Sentinel shut the engines down and grabbed his lance and shield. The lance probably wasn't necessary, but he wasn't going to take chances.

The environment outside was atrocious – the entire volcanic valley was visible from where he stood on the plateau. Mountains that resembled open wounds more than geographic structures bled out the blood of the earth, and smoke filled the air so thickly that it was difficult for him to see more than twenty feet ahead. He lowered his battle mask, the enhanced visor allowing him to scan the environment and create a grid that was easier to navigate than regular sight would allow. He frowned in disgust beneath the mask, when he got back into the ship he'd have to clean out his vents and fans from all the dirt and filth in the air.

Sentinel made his way to the front of the Quickstrike, scanners searching for any signs of whatever had landed there earlier. An obvious leftover made him nearly fall, and he looked down as he moved back – a huge crater in the plateau indicated where whatever it was had landed, had landed badly. He knew it had to be Decepticon, the size of the crater was slightly bigger than what he remembered of Starscream. Well, that was just wonderful – a Decepticon had come to this planet, crash landed, and might still be around.

He increased his own scanners to find energon signatures, but none came up. Unless the Decepticon was able to mask his own signature, he was safe for now, but it wasn't the first time something like that had happened. Sentinel activated his shield and slid down the small declining slope of the crater, reaching the center and kneeling down to do a miniature topographic scan.

A large small piece of metal caught his attention, and he moved over to pick it up. It was half hidden under dirt, and fit in his palm. It had unmistakably been part of the Decepticon that had landed there. It was purple, and slightly cracked at where the force of impact must have snapped it off from the main body. Sentinel opened a small containment compartment in his upper arm and placed it in there, shutting it quickly so dirt or whatever else was floating around in the air wouldn't get in. He stood, finishing his scans and sending the results back to the Quickstrike before he turned around. Casting one last glance and one extra scan over the entire plateau, he fired his grappling hook at the top of the crater where it wrapped around a large rock. Sentinel pulled himself up, and once he reached the top, unwound the cable and reeled it back in. He went back in to the ship without delay, removing his mask once he was in a clean environment again. Sentinel sat down in the pilot's seat and activated the engines, more than happy to get off of this planet as quick as possible.

Sentinel sat on his berth, the 'ribcage' area below his chest opened entirely, displaying his multiple cooling fans and vents that kept his system clean. He was laboriously cleaning out the fan blades, having taken out a mirror to do so, since he couldn't see in to his body. The mirror rested against the wall opposite of where he sat, just tall enough to reach his neck. He wiped through the fan blades with precision and quickness that was gained from a lifetime of military service, his pain sensors poking at the back of his mind. He didn't care, the filth from that planet could fester and infect him, and he'd rather go through a small bit of ignorable pain than be filthy. Sentinel flicked his left antennae, the ship making a small beep of acknowledgement as recording devices were activated.

"Sentinel Prime – audio log entry two. Exactly 20 solar cycles after encountering the Rock Lords mentioned in entry one, the same energon signature reappeared on my scanners. I delayed grid mapping this sector to investigate. The energon signature led to uninhabited planet 'Lambda IX' as so named by the ship's computer. I performed atmospheric entry and landed on a plateau in the valley of the planet's second smallest continent. A crater was discovered, and inside was a small triangular object that I believe to be some part of a Decepticon that crashed on this planet. I performed more scans, but found no other energy sources, or signatures leading off the planet. Images, scans and the dimensions of my findings can be found in the media pack that I have included with this file of information."

Sentinel paused – he was sounding like he had when he was first in the military, all eager and interested. He frowned and tried to sound bored.

"I will continue grid scanning, but will also scan for energon trails as I have earlier. As before, I will take appropriate action upon finding anything that indicates the need for investigation. Time of report – 0200 hours."


	4. Chapter 4

Sentinel tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair impatiently, waiting for the visual representation of his latest scan to come up. The energon trail was still turning up cold, and he couldn't shirk his glorious duties of mapping an empty sector to chase after something that was barely there. True, he had hard evidence – said evidence was sealed in an air tight document envelope – but it was not enough proof to start a full investigation.

Finally, the widescreen image of his latest scan appeared. Sentinel zoomed in to certain sectors, noting anomalies and free moving meteors that weren't part of a belt. He quickly typed in every ID he had made of something that was unusual, including the exact location on the grid, the time that he noticed it, the shape, the size…

"This is so boring!" he suddenly shouted to himself, throwing his hands up and leaning back in his chair, pouting. He stared with dimmed optics up at the ceiling – limbs simply hanging off of his chair as he sat in a most undignified and Elite-Guard unworthy manner. No one was around, he didn't have to put on a show or try to act like he cared anymore. It sickened him to even think of home right now – of how Optimus must be the pride of Cybertron while he wasn't able to show his face without a cross look.

When paranoia runs rampant, people will believe anything – they'll believe they need the extremes to survive. The masses were dull and easy to scare, Sentinel had learned this – he knew why they'd loved him. And to be completely honest with himself, he had believed every word he'd spouted in the beginning. He still partly did for that matter. All that Optimus had proven was that if you bend the rules and get lucky, people will love you twice as much. Even that rusting, pompous Alpha Trion had heralded Optimus as the next great leader of Cybertron.

Sentinel sneered up at the ceiling, ugly lines showing up at the edges of his mouth as his face distorted. It always got like this after a period of tme, he couldn't help it. He'd always revert back to his old ways, his selfish, condescending, arrogant ways – as Optimus had so bluntly put it back on Cybertron. During the first few months of his recon, the anger wasn't so bad - the bitterness was manageable. Now it just gnawed at him, hour after hour, solar cycle after solar cycle. He had worked, like every other bot – he had worked his way up the ladder. They didn't give free passes in to the Elite Guard, you had to earn it.

Sentinel's antennae twitched suddenly as he was drawn out of his angered thoughts. The Quickstrike's computer was sending off loud warning signs of an approaching vessel. It wasn't a Cybertronian energy signature, and didn't bear the mark of Decepticon ship – or at least the computer didn't find one in its initial assessment.

Sentinel sat upright quickly, typing up commands for his ship to activate the view screen. A ship was floating far ahead of him, and he increased the range of the cameras to zoom in on it. He had never seen a ship like that before, but it wasn't something overly shocking to him. Deep space was full of other life forms, some robotic, most organic. And since he was in uncharted territory, this type of thing wasn't an unexpected surprise. The ship was shaped like a trident, and a very unflattering mixture of orange and pinkish reds, with long segmented lines running down the entire frame. It was much, much bigger than the Quickstrike, but that wasn't a cosmic achievement. Sentinel's ship was a one person vessel; a lot of things were bigger than that.

Sentinel waited for 30 astroseconds. He had decided that it was the time he would allot for an enemy to make the decision to attack. No laser fire came, and he flipped a comm switch to send a data pack for translating Cybertronian – the standard initial act of a friendly encounter. He narrowed his optics and leaned back, waiting for a reply – but the waiting wasn't long. His computer blipped with affirmation that it had also received a translation data pack, and was automatically integrating it in to the reception and audio components of the ship.

Sentinel didn't wait for any confirmation that the other ship had successfully integrated the Cybertronian translation data to start talking. Instead he activating the hailing frequency immediately and spoke.

"This is Sentinel Prime of the Cybertronian Elite Guard. Identify yourself."

As he spoke he kept his eyes on the large panorama windows ahead of the dash, the ship was now in plain sight and slowly lumbering towards his own. The view screen flickered to life, and a robotic face appeared, the ship's computers confirming with a few lines of code that this was directly from the other ship's cockpit.

"Hail, Cybertronian."

The warbling, cracked voice matched the face perfectly. Breaks in the metal face plating and long segmented cranium were an obvious sign of a badly aging robotic who hadn't been keeping up on his tune ups. He was squat faced with a small upside-down triangle of a 'beard' that reminded Sentinel of what maybe Alpha Trion might have looked like in his younger years.

"I am Arblus, of Lithone. Greetings to you, Sentinel Prime of Cy-"

"Explain your reason for being here, Arblus of Lithone." Sentinel interjected. The older mech flickered his optics and moved his head back slightly at the sudden interruption, but regained composure quickly.

"We are a civilian craft." Arblus explained, "A colleague of mine recently had a lab accident and it resulted in inner-cranial damage that we could not repair. Thus, we felt it was necessary to transport him to Torkulon for further treatment."

Sentinel narrowed his eyes at Arblus through the screen, "Torkulon? I've never heard of it."

Arblus looked at another crew member off screen, an expression of what Sentinel deduced to be both confusion and irritation slighting his features momentarily. The Lithone turned back to face Sentinel and answered.

"It's a planet, two astronomical units away by our measurements. They specialize in treating damaged psyches of both robotics and organics."

"The entire planet specializes in psychiatric care…?" Sentinel inquired, sounding more suspicious than curious.

Arblus looked intimidated and annoyed, despite both outnumbering and outgunning Sentinel. He scraped the back of his head with his hands for a moment before reaffirming what Sentinel had asked. Sentinel shrugged then, he'd heard of stranger things. Arblus nodded then at Sentinel's nonchalance, and prepared to sever the connection but Sentinel quickly spoke up before he could do so.

"Have you spotted any strange energy signatures, or seen any violent activity in this sector that might have been caused by Robotics?"

Arblus set his hand to his chin, tapping lightly on his 'beard' before nodding. "We did detect an unidentified energy signature about ten solar cycles ago as we left Torkulon. While we were on the planet, we could see one of their storage facilities - it had a hole blown through the roof. We didn't ask about it though, and the Torkuli didn't make mention of it."

Sentinel's antennae perked up at this, and his mood livened. He finally had a new lead - and a semi solid one too.

"Acknowledged. The Cyberton Elite Guard thanks you for your time."

Arblus smiled, "Would you like to exchange cultural information? I have a data pack pre-"

Sentinel switched off the comm link, initiating a long range scan for planetary objects and preparing the engines on his ship for departure. The massive Lithone ship was also vacating, lumbering away past Sentinel's tiny vessel. An astronomical unit was the average distance between an organic planet and its sun, something that followed a vague average throughout the universe. Sentinel calculated the time it would take to reach Torkulon with those same measurements. His ship wasn't capable of top speeds; it would take him maybe 60 to 70 solar cycles to reach Torkulon if that was the true distance. And that was even if his scanners found it, but the trail was hot again and he couldn't ignore the evidence.

Sentinel made a quick note of his energon reserves. Half of the fuel was gone from the holding tanks. Right now he had exactly enough fuel to travel from his current location directly back to Cybertron without any stops. But was that even an option? If there was Decepticon activity in this sector it had to be weeded out and given proper response. He'd just find somewhere to refuel, he told himself. It would be simple, there were other planets around this sector. No doubt one of them was inhabited by a fellow space-faring civilization. Besides, if worst came to worst, he could put his own stockpile of energon in to the tanks to use as makeshift fuel. There were always alternatives, and he'd take as many different routes that were available to him if it meant the safety of Cybertron.


	5. Chapter 5

Well, this was just stellar. No, cosmic. Sentinel couldn't think of a word that could amount to the overwhelming joy he felt right now. The joy of his ship, the Quickstrike, being struck on a large asteroid that was lazily orbiting an uninhabited planet was simply unbearable. An engine malfunction had occurred, through Sentinel's own fault, obviously. He had pushed it too hard, and too often. Trying to get to Torkulon within 50 solar cycles when it would normally take 70 wasn't that good of a plan, he admitted to himself.

So, the Quickstrike sat there on the meteor, clamped to it firmly by landing gear as Sentinel angrily tied himself to a safety hook to do repairs in zero gravity. He pulled himself down the ship by grasping the seams between plates of metal before finally reaching the posterior engine panels. He was using vital energon fuel for simple repairs, energon fuel that he couldn't afford to use. He couldn't fool himself – there wasn't any way he'd get back to Cybertron without finding a space bridge. Even with a full tank - thanks to this side trip he was taking, there was no way home.

No way home. He paused from his soldering to think on that. No way to get back to Cybertron, no chance to throw back a few at Maccadam's Oil House when he was feeling sour. He felt responsible to be bereaved by this, or in despair, but when he searched hard – he felt nothing for those he would not see again. Optimus poked at his mind, but he pushed that back before it could hit him, he couldn't deal with that now.

No, he wouldn't miss the bots, the mechs and femmes that had to be coddled by old ways and new leaders to constantly give them a sense of security. What Sentinel would miss, would be Cybertron itself. He would miss the hustle of the cities, the great lights from the planet's core that lit up the darkness non-stop. He'd miss the uninhabited sheets that made up the borders of districts where he would race Optimus in their academy days. He'd miss sitting in his room up in one of the higher towers of Iacon and cleaning.

Sentinel snorted to himself as he began to replace the fried components. He'd miss cleaning. Well, it wasn't that he didn't enjoy it. He liked things to be organized, to be where they were meant to be, to be decontaminated and cleansed. During his time on Earth he was painfully aware of how much he needed the sterile environment that a robotic planet offered. Out in deep space, the only comforts he was given were keeping his (empty) room clean and cleansing his exhaust vents and fans as often as he pleased.

After a final weld he reattached the covering plate and reeled himself back in to the ship. He was following the route of least resistance. His long range scanners had picked up Torkulon successfully and now it was only a matter of time. But time was so important – if what he thought was true, then getting that knowledge to Cybertron was precedent over his own safety, or that of anyone else's.

Sentinel walked down the hallway, placing the repair tools in a shelf that slid back in to the wall. He'd clean them later, right now he wanted to rest. He was losing track of things, of time – his internal clock was always on but he would forget to check it. Funny how fast time would go when he wasn't paying attention to it. He let out a long, powerful burst of air from his vents as the door slid shut behind him. There were so many things to mull over in his mind, and part of him wanted to go home, even though he knew he didn't need it. Sentinel rested on his berth, sending a flicker of data to the ship's computer to deactivate itself.

Lights went out, and Sentinel was in the darkness of space, alone in his room. His optics being the only objects that gave out light. He turned, gazing over to the wall nearby his berth. An old picture of himself and Optimus, both awkwardly standing near a practice range, both looking rather unhappy their picture had been taken without their knowledge. Elita had snapped that photo, a voice reminded Sentinel in the back of his mind. She was dead to him now, no matter what fantasies swam around Optimus' head about that organic thing that had taken her corpse. Old memories seeped into his head, of his academy days. Of runs to Maccadam's for oil during cram study sessions about piloting and ordinance. Sitting on his bunk with Optimus above him, quizzing each other on the different measurements used for Universal Standards. Telling raunchy jokes during the walk back to the barracks, Elita laughing with her hand over her mouth. Optimus would always be on his other side, looking away in embarrassment at how loud and shameless Sentinel was in public.

Was he a better person back then? Did the bot change or just the circumstances that they were thrust in to? He held a neutral expression on his face, but part of him, a part he would never let anyone know, wished that those days past were just around the corner. Part of him wished that he was just entering the best years of his life, and not far past the end of them. Sentinel shut off his optics, turning his head forward and away from the picture. Time just seemed to leave him behind.


	6. Chapter 6

Sentinel eyed the approaching planet of Torkulon in confusion and apprehension. His scanners had indicated that the planet wasn't just swarming with organic life; it was literally covered in it. Closer images showed the planet to be eerily monochromatic for the most part, varying hues of purple blotting out any oceans or deserts. The entire planet was organic, even the poles were covered in web-like structures that were buried by snow.

He wouldn't land, he couldn't. Every inch of the world was something that he reviled, that he hated. At least on Earth the cities had been paved with stone and steel, but there were only minimal mineral readings from his scans. Sentinel sent his vents on a more rapid rotation - he was getting worked up over nothing. He would just hail them from orbit - he didn't have to go down there.

His ship beeped, notifying another translation pack had been sent to its computer and was now successfully integrated. Sentinel did the same, and after a few seconds his ship notified him that he was being hailed from the largest structure on the planet; Torkulon being considerably smaller than Cybertron and having only a few of…some kind of bulbous towering structures that could be described as 'buildings'.

He flicked on the screen, and had to refrain from making a face. Three Torkuli were looking at him, all dressed in green with maroon straps running from their shoulder to their belt. Rounded helmets with small crests were on all of them, and their arms were covered in blue fur as well as having blue hair that reached their shoulders.

"Are you a new patient?" the one in front asked, the other two glancing at Sentinel's face for a moment then going back to their business off-screen.

"Uh – no. I am Sentinel Prime of the Cybertron Elite Guard, I have an inquiry on some-"

"I'll transfer you, please wait." The Torkuli interrupted, pressing a switch off screen, and Sentinel's screen changed from the video feed to a recording. The recording, a commercial of sorts, showed sweeping vistas of Torkulon's surface, a male narrator boasting top notch facilities and one on one care provided in a calm environment. Sentinel sneered, he didn't need an advertisement showing him all the reasons why he wasn't landing.

The commercial abruptly cut off in the middle of showing a Torkuli helping a patient at their bed side, and the feed from the planet returned. The new face that greeted him was nearly identical to the others, only this one wore yellow instead of green, and his hair was slightly longer.

"You had an inquiry?" he asked, voice monotonous and droll.

"Did your receptionist just put me on hold? I am from the Cybertronian Elite Guard, I-"

"I apologize but all inquiries from new visitors must be sent directly to me. It's procedure. Now is there something I can answer for you, Sentinel?"

The Cybertronian already felt uncomfortable, and the fact that the monkey already knew his name wasn't helping.

"It's Sentinel Prime, to you. And yes, I am tracking an energon signature through this sector and I had heard from departing Lithonians that your planet had been possibly attacked. I believe there's a connection between the two."

The Torkuli raised a thick eyebrow before shuffling around his obsessively organized desk and finding a data pad and tapping on it.

"Yes, we did have some unwelcome visitors. Four days ago, a Robotic of some sort blasted into our north-sector storage facility and stole numerous items of value, all of them for energy generation or output. Would you like a manifest?"

"Yes." Sentinel nodded, and the therapist shoved the data pad into a slot in his desk, the Quickstrike's computer confirming that it had received the data with a click.

"There are images there as well, of the attacker. We've dealt with Cybertronians before, and the resemblance was uncanny, from what the eye witnesses have reported."

"I'll figure that out for myself." Sentinel huffed, and saved the data into his case file.

"Before you go, Sentinel, our scans indicate your ship is frighteningly low on fuel. We would be more than happy to give you some, free of charge, since you're pursuing someone who vandalized our facilities."

Sentinel paused, and thought to himself. He did need the fuel, he needed it badly. His ship wasn't getting back to Cybertron, and if the energon trail kept moving, he would be dead in space and without a lead. Maybe just this once he could tolerate the organics, he could always purge his systems when he got back on the Quickstrike. But, as he looked at the Torkulon therapist that stared back at him with patience, he observed the office that he was seated in. The walls were purple and made of a thick webbing that had solidified and been lacquered over by some organic or artificial substance , he couldn't tell which. A bit of movement caught his optics, and the web suddenly shifted, literally expanding and opening as another Torkuli entered, dressed in green and carrying a clip board with a thick stack of paper held on. He set the clipboard down and then left, the webbing grabbing at itself and pulling shut behind him.

Sentinel wanted to wretch and vomit, the entire room, everything except some of their technology was living. It was wet and breathing, expanding and contracting in ways that nothing should, and the planet was covered in it.

"Unless you have a refueling station that isn't covered in that." Sentinel said, motioning to the walls of the therapist's office.

The doctor looked back to his office walls then turned to face Sentinel, a flicker of amusement creeping across his disgusting simian face.

"I'm afraid not, Sentinel. Does organic material bother you?"

Sentinel frowned, lines appearing at the sides of his mouth. "What are you, my therapist?"

"I can be. We have a very good program regarding defensive behaviors and organic-robotic relations."

"Listen, I'm not interested! Thanks for the information, but I'm not going anywhere near your disgusting little ball of a-"

"No need to raise your voice, Sentinel." the Torkuli said in a calm tone, raising a palm up then setting it back down. He took a breath and leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together on his lap. He casually crossed one leg over the other, a long tail now visible from the side of his seat. "Orbiting our planet is a long range communications satellite. If you send data through, it will relay it to Cybertron directly. I can't guarantee a quick reply as it can take several days for the data to reach such a far planet, but if you need to call for aid or send information, simply send it to the satellite with coordinates and it will take care of the rest. The codes for access are in the information I sent you. It's our most powerful transmitter, the message will arrive on Cybertron, I assure you."

Sentinel's antennae leaned back and he narrowed his eyes at the Torkuli.

"Listen, mister-"

"Doctor."

"Fine, Doctor, thanks. But I probably won't need it."

"There aren't any other inhabited planets in this entire sector where you can refuel, Sentinel, but despite your virulent attitude you are more than welcome to use our satellite if you need to. And if you ever feel like sorting out those feelings, we're here for you."

The Doctor gave a polite smile that was passively intimidating in a way Sentinel didn't rightfully understand, but he didn't have a chance to respond as the feed cut off and his screen went blank.

"He hung up on me." Sentinel uttered to himself, sitting still for a moment before shaking it off. He had to review the information that the Doctor had given him, but first he needed to get as far away from this planet as he could. Just looking at it out from his window made him move back into his seat a bit, revulsion making his sensors shiver.

Sentinel hit the thrusters and flew out of orbit, the purple web-covered planet fading from view as he followed the energon trail once more, the signal stronger than ever.


	7. Chapter 7

Sentinel checked, then double checked his readings. The energon trail was stronger than ever. He was two solar cycles away from Torkulon, and the further he got from the planet the better he felt. There were several planets in this solar system after the therapy world, all of them uninhabited. The trail was leading to the second smallest of them.

Sentinel ran a scan over the small rocky, iron rich sphere that the trail led to. It had no cloud cover, no moisture, just dust and rocks. At least he wouldn't have to deal with anything organic. The energon trail had gone down to the planet's surface , near a mountain range that vivisected an enormous valley. Sentinel just hoped to Primus that the Decepticon wouldn't notice his small craft's descent.

He prepared for atmospheric entry, switching off the cockpit lights and strapping himself in for the bumpy ride. Whoever this Decepticon was, he told himself, they were going to meet the business end of his lance. He'd not only capture them, he'd bring them back to Cybertron, somehow, and prove to those ungrateful citizens and council members that he was worth something. He knew he was worth the adulation and praise, he knew he deserved to have his name shouted in the streets.

He narrowed his optics, the shuttle rattling and shaking as it entered through the atmosphere. He piloted it steadily through the thin layer of protection around the planet, nothing compared to what had been around Earth or other organic planets he had encountered. The large valley below stretched out for miles, and the red mountains that the energon trail led to rose skyward in the distance.

Sentinel landed the Quickstrike, docking clamps holding it down securely. There wasn't any cover to keep him from being seen, he'd wait for nightfall, which by the long shadows cast from small rocks and pebbles along the flat valley floor, was going to be arriving soon. He got out of the cockpit, holding his lance hilt in one hand, shield set on his other arm. Sentinel crept under the belly of the shuttle, waiting for night to arrive, staring along the flat ground to the distant mountains, where the energon trail lead to, and ended.

The planet had no moons, and an eerie silence he had only experienced in space. Sentinel alternated between walking and running towards the source of the energon trail, under cover of darkness. Of course, if the Decepticon was wary about his or her safety, and running routine scans, they would know he was here. He just had to risk it. Every minute that passed without him being attacked made him feel a little more secure. If he was lucky, the 'con was either in recharge or was confident that no one else was around.

His optics caught a flicker of light near the beginnings of one of the mountains, near the rocky slopes that rose jaggedly upwards. He crept down, hunching forward and moving slower than before. As he got closer he realized that part of the mountain wasn't in fact, natural. Steel and iron beams were set into the stone, crude circuitry taken from various, different sources running down the sides, diodes of light streaming through them. He spotted the machine that had been included in the Torkuli's manifest of stolen items. The power generator, shaped like some kind of strange, organic coffin with sleds on the bottom. It was no coffin, but it reminded him of one. It hummed, the purple skin on it expanding and contracting as it seemed to breath.

Sentinel averted his eyes back to the structure, running a scan over it to get a better idea of what it might be. It resembled a space bridge, only it was larger, the two rising prongs curving rather than standing vertical. He realized, unfortunately, after sending his findings in a data pack back to the ship, that there was no Decepticon, which had been what he was looking for in the first place.

There was a cruel irony to his realization, as he looked upwards, seeing a very large, winged form circling overhead. The Decepticon swooped down, landing several yards from his location. He had never seen one with wings, that was new. If he hadn't been less than a hundred feet from the enormous 'cons location he would've laughed. The purple Decepticon almost looked like Alpha Trion, beard and all.

Sentinel was brought back to reality by the fact that the Decepticon was looking straight at him. It clenched it's fists, long talons curling and grinding against his palm as he let out a growl, and began to charge towards Sentinel, who barely had time to raise and expand his shield before the first blow came down.


	8. Chapter 8

Sentinel's shield had cracked twice. The first time was when Starscream had been giving it a nonstop barrage with laser fire. The second time was now. The Decepticon was nearly triple his size in height alone, and was delivering blow after blow without any sign of stopping. Sentinel hid his face beneath his shield, slowly lowering himself to one knee, groaning as another crack ran through the bright blue sphere around him. He had to get out of this or he was going to die.

Sentinel looked up, trying to find a rhythm or pause to the strikes. There wasn't one, just constant powerful blow followed by another, then another. He had to risk it being struck if he was going to get out of this. Sentinel reached behind his back, pulling out his lance hilt, activating it. He waited, just any pause would be enough– but in the back of his mind he knew there wasn't going to be one.

He deactivated his shield and the first blow sent him flying across the ground. He scrambled up, charging back towards the Decepticon, shouting angrily as he raised his lance to strike.

'That could've gone better.' he thought to himself as he was backhanded to the ground.

He wasn't going to win this fight. At least no one was around to see his cowardice as he turned and began to run towards his shuttle. The Decepticon ran after him, then after flapping its wings rose upwards, passing overhead and circling back around. He didn't expand his shield, but kept it raised to protect his face as laser fire showered down on him.

The Decepticon continued to circle overhead, pouring down a nonstop barrage onto the Autobot. Sentinel would swipe at him whenever he got close enough, and luckily one of his leaping strikes was enough to cut off a piece of knee armor. The Decepticon, for all his fight, was a caitiff, and quickly turned, flying off and clutching his knee.

Sentinel turned to watch, but noticed the piece of armor he had struck away. It was purple, like the small bit he had gathered from Lambda IX. He swiped it up, carrying it along with him as he sprinted back to his shuttle.

Once inside and having secured the main airlock and set his course, he piloted the Quickstrike up, ascending. A proximity alarm went off and he activated a small view screen. The Decepticon was following him – apparently braving his mostly cosmetic injury in pursuit of the Autobot.

"This is Sentinel Prime, Audio Log entry four-" he shouted to his computer as the vessel rumbled and lurched after being struck by more laser fire. "Currently being pursued by Decepticon, designation unknown. Decepticon was discovered on an uninhabited planet, exact coordinates unknown…" his optics flickered and he suddenly felt ill. Sentinel paused his recording, looking down. He hadn't realized that he had taken so much damage, or even felt the energon slowly trickling down his side. He swallowed, fumbling back for the controls as the Decepticon continued to pursue him, reactivating the recording. "…Decepticon was building some kind of bridge – it resembles a space bridge but its function is unknown, it is circular in shape, requires heavy power supply...I have sustained damage…"

He paused, gathering all the data of his investigation and compiling it into one large packet file. He had recorded the frequency for the Torkuli's long range communication satellite, and quickly sent the message through, with relay coordinates for Cybertron. If he had gotten everything right, it would reach the Elite Guard signal outpost, and be given to whoever was in charge at the time.

After the signal was confirmed to have been sent, Sentinel coughed, looking back at his view screen. The Decepticon was still in pursuit, gaining on him. Maybe he could launch a counter attack, maybe somehow he could attempt to stage a fight. After all, the Decepticon probably had some kind of energon supply for himself back on the planet.

Whatever thoughts and hopes he had were quickly eliminated once the computer started to vocalize the warning of an 'energon tank breach'. That was bad. It was even worse when the Decepticon suddenly started flying away from the vessel. The grenade that the massive 'con had thrown into his fuel tanks detonated just as Sentinel was dawning on what was happening. The fuel tanks ruptured, exploding within a split second and taking the entire ship with it. The fireball was quelled in just moments after it occurred, the vacuum of space ending its short, violent life.


End file.
